


Across the Stars

by StephanieDee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Dyad (Star Wars), Happy Ending, Romance, Sith Rey (Star Wars), Soulmates, Spotchka, Star Wars (Marvel Comics) References, Star Wars: The Rise of Kylo Ren Spoilers, The Mandalorian Darksaber (Star Wars), This Is The Way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29742150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StephanieDee/pseuds/StephanieDee
Summary: The power of a dyad is as strong as life itself, and the individuals who form a dyad share a connection that spans across time and space.When a skirmish between The Resistance and the ever rising New Order takes Omera's life and destroys Sorgan, Din takes on the mantle of Mand'alore in order to protect what's left of his family. He builds an army that could rival the Empire, brings together a people who'd rise above the Republic, but when it comes to his force sensitive offspring, Din has no power. There is no protecting one from the will of the Cosmic Force. And boy, does Carmiya Djarin have a role to play.
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Original Female Character(s), Ben Solo/Original Character(s), Din Djarin/Omera, Kylo Ren/Original Character(s), Kylo Ren/Original Female Character(s), Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 12
Kudos: 10





	1. Awake

The first time she’d exercised her hidden talent, Din nearly had a heart attack. He’d walked into the room, late night drink in hand, and gave an embarrassing shout. Little trinkets and toys fell to the floor at once. The Mandalore’s daughter, dark silky hair curled around her little ears, had looked upon her father with big indigo eyes. Shout forgotten, she raised her arms with grasping hands.

  
“Time to quit the Spotchka,” Din stated, putting down the drink like it was poison. He lifted his little girl into his arm, and almost dropped her when she pulled a toy to her hand from the floor. “Or maybe I need more.”

  
That’s exactly what he did. Setting the toddler on a mat in the main room, Din went to collect a small barrel. He set himself up and sat down, silently staring down at the babe who played with her toy obliviously. A few cups later Winta and Omera arrived from field work. Their dresses were covered in fresh blue spots; another layer to add to the hundreds of others. Nothing was said as mother and daughter exchanged looks.

  
Omera sat at the humble dining table, watching Winta begin to play with her infant sister on the floor. Din nursed yet another mug of his wife’s special Spotchka. Omera eyed the Mandalorian speculatively.

  
“You ok?” Omera asked. On the floor their babe squealed in delight as Winta took another pass of a toy star ship over reaching chubby hands.

  
“Yup,” Din said on the rim of his mug before taking another long pull. He dropped the empty cup before him and stared down into it. Omera was unsettled. She knew her husband liked to have a drink now and again, but this? Din clumsily dragged his mug across the table to the barrel’s tap.

  
“How many of those have you had?” Omera asked. Din looked up rather lazily, eyes glazed and struggling to focus. Deeply inebriated, Din squinted at his wife the way he did whenever he was thinking hard. Omera arched her brow, silently daring him to lie. His squint gave way to a deeply sorrowed look, and he glanced over at their children. Winta was frozen, staring wide eyed at the toy ship as it flew around the air in slow circles by itself.

  
“Not enough,” he said, going to fill his mug again. Omera’s drawn brow lifted to match the other when the pulled tap gave way to two sluggish drips.

  
“Mom?” Winta called out quietly to unhearing parents. Din began to complain, words coming out as mumbled nonsense, when he interrupted himself with a drunken burp. Something clattered and skid across the floor. The boisterous noise caused the baby on the ground to erupt into startled cries. Both parents turned to find Winta staring ominously at the star ship toy that lay upside down on the floor, ignoring her distressed sister. Omera quickly stood to pick up her daughter.

  
“What happened?” Omera asked Winta sharply, hushing her baby.

  
“The toy, it, Carmiya, she- she-“ Winta attempted to speak, but her voice was hushed in disbelief. Din picked up the toy, slow in his stupor, and brought it over to his child. Omera’s rocking and hushes had soothed down her cries.

  
“Did Daddy startle you?” he asked. The baby sniffed, head nodding with the action in an agreeing motion, though he knew she didn’t understand him. Movement as supplicant as possible, Din held the toy out on his palm. Little Carmiya, eyes shiny with tears, cooed at the object. The plastic air craft lifted from Din’s fingers and softly began to dance in the air.

  
“That,” Winta said in answer to her mother’s forgotten question, pointing at the toy. The little family watched on as Carmiya made the star ship flip and tumble through the air. It came to a stop when Din caught it, bringing it down and pressing it into the baby’s chubby hands. She inspected the wings, flying forgotten.

  
“Din, what do we do?” Omera asked. Winta stepped beside her parents and brushed a finger over the toddlers cheek. A small chubby hand grabbed it. Winta tugged faintly, and the baby grasped on as predicted. Winta smiled sadly, and Carmiya, unaware of her sisters turmoil, let out a bubbly giggle. Omera’s forehead landed upon her eldest’s temple as they cocooned the child between them.

  
“Is she going to go away, like Grogu?” Winta asked. Din sighed and stumbled back over to his chair. His mind had sobered rather quickly, but his muscles could no longer keep him up. His body and thoughts weighed him down. He collapsed onto the sturdy structure. It didn’t even groan. A testament to his wife’s craftsmanship. He looked upon her and then to her arms, where the babe his wife had given him cooed at his foundling daughter.

  
“No.” He said resolutely. He remembered something from a few years back, though it seemed so much longer ago. On a desolate planet, hidden in between the dead trees of a dying forest, a Togruta spoke of a path that didn’t lead to the Jedi. _I will not start this child on that path. Better to let his abilities fade._ Grogu was hunted by the remains of the Empire. He was better off being trained by a master, protected, strong, then fading away, vulnerable, on the run.

  
Din’s thoughts drifted to the Jedi knight who’d found them. Luke Skywalker. Once again, Din found himself standing in the control room. Darksaber in one hand, and Grogu in the other. Din stared down at the creaky floorboards of his little home. A place he’d made with his wife, for a family he found and created on his own. Here there was no Empire, no Jedi, and certainly no Mandalorians. Din raised his head and looked into the waiting eyes of his family.

  
“We let it fade away.” Din decided. But fade away, it did not.


	2. On the Grid

When Din had reached out to the Resistance, he’d expected a small revenue of soldiers to come in. Maybe they would have appointed a station, something to keep watch and scare away the gangsters who'd become far too comfortable using Sorgan as a trading stop. What Din hadn’t expected was an armada, and a full scale battle between the Resistance and the First Order. The sky was filled with battleships and lasers. Bits and pieces of metal and bodies fell to the ground in smoky trails. There was a constant snow fall of ash left in their wake.

There’d been no warning, no attempts of evacuation. Everyone had been asleep in their homes when the first bomb went off. Miles away, yet it still shook the ground. Din awoke to Omera holding a crying Carmiya in one arm, and her other wrapped around a trembling Winta. Din had rounded up the villagers while Omera had dressed the girls and grabbed at what little she could. Now they all ran away through the woods. They’d made it only so far when the first ship had crashed. The impact might have been far enough away, but the resulting explosion took out half the village.

The forest was filled with the screams of those burning alive. Those closest to the blast died quickest from blood loss, as their limbs had been shredded away with the violent wind. Omera thrust Carmiya into her eldest daughters arms, forcing Winta to look away and focus on her wailing sister. The preteen didn’t have a chance to react before Din had snatched her around and pushed her towards their destination. Only a few of the villagers were still with them. There was no time to gather the shocked or wounded, not before the troopers had descended.

They came marching in from the direction of the cantina. White armor that glowed before a backdrop of fire and death. There were too many of them. A cold voice ordered that no Resistance be left alive. Quickly came the first wave of blasts. The injured went down first. Next the stragglers. Din punched into the key pad on his arm and The Razor Moraine’s engines roared to life a hundred feet away. The walkway descended slowly, in time with their sprinting approach. 

Another wave of blasts came. Many ricashayed off of the ship into the surrounding trees. A few more bodies dropped. One of them Omera. Din turned to his collapsed wife and turned her around in his lap. She held a hand to her abdomen, the blue fabric of her dress bloomed into a dark violet. Between the trees the troopers advanced at a slow march, picking off his neighbors and friends one by one. Something cold was placed in Din’s hand.

He looked down to see the hilt of the darksaber. Din looked at his wife in alarm. She smiled with bloody teeth.

“Didn’t think I knew about your hidden stash, huh?” She asked affectionately. “Found it when I replaced that squeaky floor board you forgot to fix.”

“I didn’t forget,” Din said, hand pressing into her abdomen to stop the bleeding.

“I know,” her laughing tone turned into a gasp, hand landing over his, “Din, there’s no use.” Din didn’t lift his hand, but he also didn’t fight her. He knew. “Din, you are the master of the darksaber.”

“How did you-“

“No time,” she stopped him, grabbing the satchel she’d brought and pushing it into Din’s still arms. “There are so many things I wanted to tell you. So much I should have told you. But, we are out of time.” As if to prove her point, another wave of blasts tore into the trees around them. “Find them all, find all the Mandalorians, and bring back Mandalore,” she wrapped her hands around Din’s, which were now wrapped around the dark saber hilt. Omera’s warm chocolate eyes were hard, demanding. “Keep the girls safe. Be their armor until they have their own.”

“I promise,” Din spoke, voice cracking with suppressed sobs. His wife’s features softened, and a bloody hand rose to caress his tear stained cheek.

“I love you, Mando,” she whispered, pulling him forward. Din kissed his wife with as much affection and promise as he could. This was goodbye. When he lifted away, Omera’s body was still and her spirit gone. With one last lingering look upon her beautiful face, Din stood and ran to his ship. Pressing a code into his arm band, the walkway began to rise. Din entered with a jump, and the door closed behind him, quickly followed by one last wave of blasts. Clearing his mind of grief and pain, Din ran to the pilot chamber and quickly brought the shield up. Whatever attacks the troops below attempt before they took off were easily deflected. The Razor Moraine shot up into the sky, away from the battling ships of the failing First Order and winning Resistance.


	3. A Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those who commented, thank you so very much. I'm surprised anyone picked this one to read, let alone be effected enough to comment. It actually motivated me to write again today. So super awesome!

16 years later

28 ABY

Former Wren Stronghold

Planet Krownest

It was late evening, and the only conscious souls in the whole compound were the night guard. Each one stood attention, silver armor glistening in the moonlight, as Winta Djarin passed. She acknowledged none as she hastily made her way through the building. At the end of the hall stood two soldiers whose helms and right shoulders bore the black beskar plates of the personal guard. Without a word, they each took hold of a door and opened the way for Winta to the commander’s office. She swept by them and approached the large glass desk. Upon it was a mess of papers, and upon them the hunched over form of her father. Winta arched a knowing brow at the guard who stood attention near the northeast wall

“Princess,” he addressed her quietly with a quick bow. Winta recognized the voice as Nartuk’s.

“Wouldn’t go to bed?” she asked softly. Nartuk, now at ease, tilted his helmet in a silent ‘what do you think?’ gesture. Winta sighed, crossing her arms and turned towards the desk.

“Rise and shine,” she called, causing the sleeping man to bolt upright. Din, squinting, pressed a hand to his forehead as blood rushed to it. His eyes widened shortly upon seeing his very cross daughter.

“It’s eleven already?” Din groaned, attempting to sound confused, grabbing at a glass of lukewarm water to wet his dry throat.

“Oh two hundred actually,” Winta answered, refilling his glass when he’d inhaled the first.

“Thank you,” Din said, sheepishly glances at her. He turned to Nartuk, “I though I told you to wake me at eleven if I fell asleep?” 

“I did,” Nartuk said, emotionless helmet slowly turning towards the two with an air of sarcasm, “then again at midnight, then oh one hundred as you requested.” Din stared him down, irked his personal guard had taken his daughters side. “Sir,” he added as an after thought. Din, knowing when he’d lost, closed his eyes and hung his head in exhaustion.

“It’s good you’re still up,” Winta said, “this time,” she added when her father looked relieved. “We have visitors.” From the hanger beside the desk, Winta plucked the tattered cape. The dark fabric was expensive, laced with beskar, but battle worn. Din stood lazily, letting the chair roll back from his straightened legs. His daughter began fastening the cloth to the shoulders and neck.

“What visitors?” Din asked. He turned his head to the side so she could tuck in the collar.

“Unexpected ones,” Winta answered, voice wary. Din turned to catch her gaze. “Carmiya felt them,” she said as quietly as she could. Realization crossed Din’s face.

“Could it be-“

“I don’t know,” she interrupted, glancing at the guards. Din followed her eyes. His adams apple bobbed nervously. Winta continued, even quieter than before. “She was sparse on the details before running off to meditate. Hoping to get a better feel.” Din crossed the room in sure strides and swiped his silver helmet from it’s velvet stand.

“She said she’ll meet us out front,” Winta said. Mouth turned down in a pensive frown, Din put on the last piece of his armor. Father and daughter turned at the sound of approaching feet.

“Alor’uus Yavin, sir,” one of the guards at the door informed Din.

“Let her in,” Din cleared. Corporal Yavin rushed into the office and stood to attention, sweat on her brow and eye wide with alarm.

“What is it, alor’uus?” Din asked.

“The ship is approaching, sir,” she stated loudly. The room was quiet for a moment, all waiting on Din who was deep in thought.

“What ship?” Din finally asked.

“The one you cleared to land, sir. The pilot said I was to inform you at once that he was arriving,” her voice was strange, rehearsed almost, like she was reading it off a piece of paper. The room was silent again. Winta narrowed her eyes and studied the corporal. Sweat was dripping down her temple, and the tendons in her neck were taunt to the point of snapping. Something wasn’t right.

“I haven’t cleared any landings for today,” Din said shortly. All the guards went on alert, awaiting orders. “What ship was it?”

“The x-wing starfighter, sir,” Yavin said. Winta noticed her father stiffen. He knew the ship, it meant something. When Din turned to Winta, her earlier suspicions were confirmed. From outside, a distant pop echoed. Something had just entered the atmosphere.

“Clear the landing and secure the perimeter,” he commanded, “None but the personal guard in the courtyard. No one, and I mean no one, is allowed to approach whoever comes out of that x-wing. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” the three guards said together. No questions, no hesitance. Din nodded in satisfaction. With a signaling hand motion from Din, they took off. He turned to the remaining corporal.

“Alor’uus-“

“Yes sir,” she replied immediately, voice trembling. Din hesitated a moment, catching the worried look his daughter had. He had his suspicions about what was happening, but he’d have to ask the right questions.

“Do you remember me clearing anything today?” he asked. Yavin was trembling. “Do you?” he prompted, tone a bit softer.

“Yes?” the woman winced at her own hesitance. If she stood any straighter, her spine would snap.

“Alor’uus Yavin,” he stepped in front of her, “at ease.” Finally, the woman relaxed. Well, as relaxed as a nervous wreck could be. Immediately her hands met each other in front of her, thumbs twiddling on instinct. “Do you remember me clearing anything today?” he asked it slower this time. Yavin’s eyes looked everywhere but at her Mand’alore.

“I.. I don’t know, sir.” she admitted, eyes shut tight. Din sighed, helmet turning as he stared off into the distance. He’d seen this before. Knew the trick. _He’d finally came._

“You did well,” Din said. He raised a hand to stop Winta’s argument before it began, “take the night and tomorrow off. Report to the med bay at oh eight hundred. Dismissed.” The girl nodded, features calmed a bit, and departed. Once the corporal was out of earshot, Din turned to his daughter. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alor'uus is a Mandalorian rank for Corporal. I wasn't sure if that position would inform a leader about a landing ship. I have very little understanding of ranks and duties that apply. So if it's fudged, please tell me!


	4. Arrival

Carmiya watched as the X-wing starfighter made a lazy turnabout through the air. Whoever they were, they knew how to fly. Little dips and added turns weren’t necessary for a landing, but it smoothed the descent in an almost artistic way. A gust of mountain air pushed up from the valley, shifting the ship. The pilot let the ship twirl with the motion; effortlessly curling through the sky. Through the force, she picked up a flutter of satisfaction. She smirked, frozen lips straining. Behind their masks, the guard hid away awe. Their visors were trained on the elegant show up above; the only indication they were paying attention. But, she could feel their intrigue and wonder. The pilot’s satisfaction pulsed in reaction, as if he could sense them too. He probably could. Carmiya’s smile broke through, lips stinging as they split. Her excitement flapped its wings in the force, a greeting, and the sudden silence that absorbed it all chilled Carmiya more than the cold tundra surrounding them could. Had she done something wrong?

The pretty flying display shifted into a stiff glide; masterful, yet mundane. The guard’s masks turned back down to face forward, like nothing of interest had just happened. The force, too, was silent as it ever was. That building presence she’d first felt not but an hour ago was gone. No, not just gone. _Vacant_. Like a void in the force. Carmiya frowned, the cuts in her lips irritated at being compressed. Her indigo eyes sad. That’s when Din and Winta arrived. Winta flew to her sister’s side while Din kept his slow measured approach, eyes glued to the approaching X-wing.

“What’s wrong?” Winta asked, “And what on earth are you wearing? Where is your armor?” Her arm wrapped around her younger sisters shoulder, bringing around Winta’s thick cape. Carmiya rolled her eyes at the maternal nagging. Winta may be her sister, but there was an eleven year age difference between them. Plus, there was the gapping loss of the family matriarch. Winta had slipped into the roll at a young age. Even now, while Carmiya was nearing on adulthood, Winta pet and preened her sister like a mother hen. 

“I can’t meditate in it,” Carmiya supplied, fighting the urge to push her sister off. It _was_ very cold outside.

“Did you get anything?” Winta asked, voice hushed. Carmiya’s frown arched bitterly, causing a burst of iron to coat her taste buds. She licked at the cracks, tucking her lips between her teeth to avoid the bitter cold touching her tongue. She didn’t like how her family treated her ‘abilities’. It was always so hush hush. It made her feel like something was wrong with her. _Wasn’t it?_ A cold voice, a memory, echoed. Her brows furrowed. Now was not the time. Carmiya forced herself to breathe long and deep; ignoring the frigid bite in her nose. She centered herself, let her anger recede to a soft hum. Once the bitterness faded, Carmiya spoke.

“I did,” Carmiya said, smirking at the way Winta shook her shoulder excitedly. Remembering her own excitement, Carmiya frowned again, “but something is wrong. The feeling I had, the force signature I picked up on, it’s strange.” The X-wing was finishing its final pass. They’d be landing soon.

“Strange how?” Winta asked, grip tightening on Carmiya’s shoulder and eyes locked on the starfighter. A rising sense of trepidation frayed Winta’s force signature, as little as it was. This close, Carmiya could see it.

“Well at first it was inviting. Warm, like a hug, you know?” she described, watching the fray shred and mend with Winta’s anxiety. It worsened the closer the ship got. “But earlier, when I reached out, it disappeared. Like a black hole. It was hiding from me.” When she said that, the erratic force signature calmed. Carmiya furrowed her brows. “What do you make of that?” She looked over at her sister.

“Whatever it is, isn’t here for you,” Winta said joyfully. Carmiya jerked away as if stricken. Winta pulled her arm back, ready to ask what was wrong, when the X-wing’s jets came close enough to rip the air about in a violent current. A heavy hand landed on Winta’s left shoulder, and Carmiya’s right. The two sisters turned, holding their matching auburn locks back with their hands, to find Din standing tall behind them. Around the platform, the Mand’alore’s personal guard stood at the ready. The X-wing came to a stop before them all. The engines cut, and the torrent of air flew away. It was silent. The ship groaned as the hatch hissed. With a pop it opened up to reveal a bearded man who appeared to be in his forties. From the star fighters nose, a beeping R2 unit arose from its shaft.

Carmiya squinted her eyes, focusing with her force site. The vacancy was smaller, more tightly compacted around the man. She tilted her head to the side, lost in the observation. She almost didn’t notice the signature coming from the blaster seat behind him. This was something familiar. A gentle aura that belonged to large dark eyes and big green ears. She recognized them immediately, though she couldn’t quite believe it.

Carmiya was used to the visions the force would give her. Ever since she was young she’d received them. Little moments of guidance given, that helped her grow with her abilities. Most of them were just feelings; like when one listened to the force during meditation. Her vision was filled with blurry objects and muffled voices, but the feeling was still there. Then, there’d been him. The little green creature that matched the descriptions of her sister’s and father’s story. Grogu.

She’d grown to assumed the Grogu she saw was a manifestation by the force, based on the description given to her by her family. But nothing could explain the presence from those visions matching the presence she felt now. And when the man excited the X-wing turned to help the little being out from the other seat, Carmiya couldn’t contain her shock. It blasted through the force like a shockwave. Grogu stumbled back into the man, who’d only just begun to set him down. The man himself stilled. Grogu placed a little three fingered hand on the man’s arm, looking up at him intensely.

“Well, that’s interesting,” the man’s voice wasn’t as rough as he appeared. He stood up and straightened his frumpy woolen clothes. “I greet you, Mand’alore,” he then bowed by the waste.

“And I you, Jedi,” Din spoke above the girls shoulders.

“Just Luke, is fine,” the Jedi said, then turned to look down at Grogu, prompting his greeting.

“Hey, kid,” Din’s voice lost its formal tone, becoming warm like honey. The same way he spoke to his girls, who noticed the difference.

“Din,” the soft voice fit the little creature, who smiled adorably with a row of tiny sharp teeth. His ears were perked, and cheeks full with lingering baby fat. But his eyes were intelligent. Adorably round, but full of ‘knowing’. Din gave out a startled laugh.

“He can speak?” Din asked the Jedi, who’s tired face managed a small warm smile.

“Has been for some time now. Whatever his kind is, their growth rate spikes exponentially after fifty year. I’d estimate a decade every five years,” the Jedi said, looking down at Grogu fondly. Winta stepped forward tentatively, drawing the attention of the two Jedi.

“Hello, Grogu,” Winta greeted, “do you remember me?” she took another step forward. Grogu’s ears twitched back and forth. Carmiya sensed something buzzing in the atmosphere. She tilted her head slowly to the side. Luke’s eyes narrowed on the youngest Djarin, which didn’t go unnoticed by Din. Carmiya reached out, searching for something to grasp on to and- there! A warm memory unfolded behind her eyes. Carmiya’s nose scrunched in disgust, but her mouth smiled humorously.

“Frogs?” Crimiya asks. Luke furrows his brows in confusion, but Winta’s reaction is anything but. She glances back at her sister in elation.

“You do remember!” Winta exclaims, running forward and lifting Grogu up for a hug. Grogu’s little arms barely fold over Winta’s shoulders, but he gives back alls he's got. Winta laughed joyfully.

“Winta,” Din chastises his overexcited daughter with little to no bite. Grounding herself, Winta pulls Grogu back with an embarrassed ‘sorry’. Grogu nuzzles her cheek with his as forgiveness. Winta giggles before returning to her father’s side. Now the little Jedi’s eyes were focused on Carmiya. Quickly, his force signature followed. Carmiya sucks in a breath as the familiar presence dances with her own. It’s so much more powerful than her fleeting visions. Her eyes dampen in emotion against her will, but she _does not_ let the tears fall.

_Hello_. His voice says in her mind. The greeting is more than anything she could’ve ever hoped for. For so long there’d been no answers for what she could do. No one around to help or recognize the great connection all livings things had. Her family knew it to be real, for how could someone deny moving objects with your mind? But everything else; no one else would understand. The feelings she picked up from others. The visions of times passed and to come. It sounded too much like a fantasy. But this, this feeling she has of another greeting her in a way no one else could see. It was truly magical. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t alone.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Carmiya says, voice wavering with more emotion than one would deem appropriate without sense of the force. She bows towards Grogu, and he bows back as well as his little body can (meaning he really only dips his head).

“Well, now that pleasantries are out of the way,” Luke said, voice grim and eyes harsh as they looked to Din, “it’s been a long journey.” As if bringing it up reminded him of his own tiredness, Grogu yawned adorably into his scarf. “I know that you would like answers, or even an explanation for a sudden arrival, but it will have to wait until tomorrow.” Carmiya was surprised at the Jedi’s demanding tone. Who did he think he was, coming to their planet and making demands? What surprised her even more was what followed.

“Of course,” Din agreed, “let’s find you some rooms.”


	5. Him, Not I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooo-weeeee that took FOREVER to write... And there's STILL no Kylo. I'm so sorry it's taking so long.

The following morning, Din and Luke walked along the winding paths between the compound greenhouses, trailed by R2-D2. The stronghold’s activity had spiked exponentially since the Jedi’s arrival. A carrier from Zanbar, one of the Mandalorian moons, arrived at sunrise, bringing new recruits and more supplies. Winta was training with the fresh faces; testing out their skills before briefing Din on her suggested rolls. The supplies that had arrived were requested by Carmiya. She was currently in the compound’s lab conducting studies and tests. Grogu was still resting. So, while everyone else was currently occupied, the Jedi requested a ‘grand tour’ given by the Mand’alore. Grudgingly, he agreed.

“So many different types of floral and fauna,” Luke remarked, peering into the nearest building. Contained within were plants one would find in the deep tropics. Steam clung to the glass and rolled through the air in heavy waves. Luke pulled at his woolen collar as if he could feel the mugginess. Inside, a few workers walked around with clipboards, making notes and pinning tags on pots and planters. “A peculiar investment,” Luke’s sharp eye subtly glanced his host’s way. As with every probing comment the Jedi had made, Din simply didn’t acknowledge it. Not even a little head tilt of his helmet. But this time, Luke didn’t keep on as if nothing happened.

“Tell me, Mando,” Luke’s voice harshened, and the two of them came to a stop, “I’ve heard much about the growing Mandalorian army. Whispers in cantinas and markets about the rising strength of its people. The long lost and estranged clans of Mandalore rumored to have come out of hiding. The galaxy wonders if they’ve finally come together, and if it’s to once again become the _legendary_ warriors who could hold their own against the _great_ Jedi order,” mockery thickly coated his words. It was unclear what his sarcasm was aimed at; the rumors, those who spoke them, the likelihood any of it was true? Or maybe it was disgust at the Jedi/Mandalorian history? This made the Mand’alore uncertain. Din stood stock still, hand subtly resting against his holster. He clenched his fingers on his blaster. R2’s uncertain buzz behind him made him jump. Nonplussed, Luke continued.

“But, I’ve heard nothing about,” the Jedi gestured his robotic hand about at the greenhouses flippantly, “this.” Din eyed the metal appendage. Its actions incongruous to its masters tone. Several times now, Luke had switched between playful and… something else. His persona wasn’t exactly strict, nor was it uninspired. Din believed if Luke Skywalker didn’t care about something, he simply wouldn’t bother to speak at all. No, he was just very stiff. Emotionless. It left Din wondering at the meaning and feeling behind Luke’s words. Did the Jedi even know his own feelings? The Jedi turned, facing his host and staring him down through his visor. A silent moment passed, the two unmoving and sizing each other up.

There was a static in the air; charged by Krownest’s dry cold atmosphere. It felt explosive between the two men. A live wire, waiting for the slightest nudge to set it off. Din was fearful to learn the reason behind the Jedi’s arrival, and the Jedi himself seemed to be digging for information for his own unknown reasons. Both weren’t going to be straight with the other. A peace offering needed to be made, and as Din looked at his ragged robes and rugged beard, he knew it wouldn’t be the Jedi.

“This,” Din gestured, voice cracking through the air after his long silence, hand outstretching towards all of the glass buildings, “ _is_ the future of Mandalore. Or so Winta says. I don’t know much about the stuff,” he drifted off awkwardly. Luke gave him an unimpressed look. Biting back his irritation, Din continued, cutting strait to the point he was trying to make. “The planets my people are living on are either dead or dying. We can’t live as mercenaries anymore. We are warriors, and warriors need a home to defend. This is the start to that.”

“When did it become ‘we’, I wonder?” Luke asks, obviously focused on one thing, and it wasn’t plants. The invisible wire burned white. Though the comment itself didn’t initially offend Din, the carelessness of it did. Inwardly, Din bristled at the crude needling. Outwardly, Din didn’t acknowledge him, walking on ahead. They continued on in silence for a while. Every now and again the distant sound of combat and instructions drifted over the deafening silence of Krownest’s absorbent snow.

The Jedi didn’t offer another anecdote, leaving Din to ponder the question. When _had_ it become ‘we’? Certainly not in the beginning. In fact, if Din had his way, the darksaber would still be hidden under the floor boards of his hut. Winta would be married to a sweet boy from the village, probably with littles of her own now. Carmiya and her mother would be outdoors with the other woman, soaking various fabrics in vats of vibrant blue dyes just collected from the harvesting season.

Din sucked in a wet breath, clearing away the images from his mind. As the constructed vision faded, his anger simmered. He couldn’t tell if Luke was playing with him or not. Had the Jedi meant to bring up such heart wrenching thoughts? Just the thought of of his late wife, Din mindlessly looked down the path. In a greenhouse towards the end of the compound, it’s glass distinctly periwinkle and tall, he could make out the top layers of the pine tree’s crowns. It wasn’t their height that attracted Din. It was where they were from. He could almost see them as they were; a hundred yards from the fields giving cooling shade during the sowing months. Din could almost smell the pine oils left over from Omera's brew preparation. Her special Spotchka.

Din decided to let his frustrations go. Maybe the Jedi wasn’t used to speaking with others? It certainly explained the odd smalltalk, and jarring shifts in character. Din was ready with another topic, mouth open, when the Jedi decided to speak again.

“I was surprised to see you with two daughters. More than I was when I’d learned your new title,” Luke said. Instantly, Din’s hackles raised, eyeing the purple glassed building over Luke’s shoulder. Again, Din didn’t reply, a trait that the Jedi was now growing used to. “When last we met, your ‘family’ was a ragtag team of mercenaries, thieves and gangsters. An unlikely alliance. All brought together by one thing. Grogu,” Luke turned and started walking again, as if the conversation was merely an exchange of pleasantries. The Mand’alore followed hesitantly.

“Now, you have a whole system to call your own. Seemingly free of any outside influence, especially the Hutt syndicate,” Luke said. His brow furrowed and mouth turned down in a stiff display of confusion, silently following a train of thought Din couldn’t see. Din waited for the Jedi to reveal it.

“I had thought you would take on the _roll_ of Mand’alore, naturally, after the events that transpired on that Imperial light cruiser. That what fleeting allies you would find amongst the remains of Mandalore would aid you before bickering amongst themselves until they ultimately fell apart. Then you’d ally with the Resistance and go after the remnants of the Empire. But, you’ve somehow managed to maintain yourselves. And then, just as with the Hutts, there are no Resistance outposts here. In fact, from what my sister has told me, you have no contact with them, _at all_.”

The conversation had taken a dark turn. The Jedi was digging for something, had been since they’d first began this farce of a tour, and now Din knew there’d been another, unseen, agenda for Luke’s visit. How could he have forgotten Luke Skywalker’s famous twin? Din cursed himself silently.

The Resistance had been a thorn in Din’s side for years; one he’d tried, and obviously failed, at removing. As the Mandalorians power grew, so did the numbers of other’s grasping hands. Specifically the retitled Old Republic. They were persistent, as was their cause. _As was their leader,_ Din thought sourly. Of course Leia Organa was one of the first to reach out to him when he’d finally been established as Mand’alore. It shouldn’t have been surprising to find she would send her Jedi Master brother to get information on them. But not to help recruit, it would seem. Quite the opposite. The implications were insulting, and Din couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“You think I’m working with the First Order?” Din asked, aghast. At the words themselves he felt queasy, inside repelling almost violently by the idea.

“Did I say that?” Luke asked in a way that suggested Din had revealed himself. This is what that live wire was waiting for, and the explosion was deafening.

“They killed my wife!” Din roared, the sound popping through the dead air like a sonic wave. Infuriatingly, the Jedi didn’t react in any way, so Din advanced on him, getting into the man’s face. “Destroyed my home, burned down my crops, slaughtered my village, and killed Omera!” He hissed in pain after saying the name he hadn’t spoken aloud in over sixteen years. He took a moment to bury it, and continued his barrage.“They all did it; the First Order, the Resistance, the Hutts, **_all of them_**!” He raged. The shout vibrated through his beskar amor with a sharp ring. _And for what?_ he thought, _a claim for territory and spice?_ Din’s heavy breathing hissed under his helmet; domed and heavy. Luke’s face was still as stone, but even through his darkened visor Din could see pity in the Jedi’s eyes. Din stepped around Luke, continuing down the path. “So, you can tell your sister that Mandalore has nothing to do with the First Order. And you can also tell her we will never alley with the Resistance.”

“General Organa didn’t send me,” Luke said after a long silence. The Mand’alore slowed to a stop. His helmet turned to the side, but said nothing. _Then why did you come?_ He would not speak it. “My sister has asked it of me before, but I have always refused,” his tone warmed, and a soft chuckle rumbled under the word ‘refused’, as if fondly remembering the dispute his refusal probably caused with his twin. “My questions are my own, Mand’alore,” again, he used the proper title. It would seem he switched Din’s moniker with his mood.

“Why would you care if we were tied to the First Order?” Din asked, posture composed. The question was safe. The Jedi smirked as if he knew Din was avoiding. _Maybe he does_ , Din thinks, remembering he _was_ a Jedi Master. Luke’s smirk was gone.

“I have questions that need answering. The First Order rose after the fall of the Empire, but not to bring it back. To replace it,” Luke said in a lecturer’s tone, hands clasped behind his back and head bowed in concentration. “After taking Grogu on as a student, I became curious about the shadows of his past. What had the Empire wanted with his blood? The experiments have been all but wiped from Grogu’s mind. So, I went looking. Searched the remains of the Empire; scoured abandoned fortresses and ships, tracked down deserters, interrogated surviving Republic spies who’d managed to make it back alive. I found nothing. The remnants of the Empire are clouded in so much mystery… I had hoped _you_ might have answers for me.”

Din’s answering silence asked the question on its own; _why?_ Luke glanced at his host and continued, “I’d hoped you had gone looking for more information on Grogu. Possibly tracked down anyone who’d worked with Moff Gideon. It was only when my sister informed me about the growing Mandalorians, and their unresponsive Mand’alore, I began having suspicions. What if he found the Empire, and joined them? I needed to know. Now I do,” he finished resolutely, nodding his head. Din pondered silently on what Luke shared. He was disturbed that someone so powerful, so seemingly knowing, could think that the previous carer of his student would join the very people who’d wished to harm him.

“You’d be surprised how the dark side can turn even the most unlikely,” Luke said, countenance darkening. Din started guessing at who Luke could be referring too, until he realized the Jedi has responded to his inner thoughts. Before he could say anything, Luke was speaking, “I don’t mean to. In fact, with most people I only ever get impressions of thoughts; feelings, rarely single words. It’s the force’s ebb and flow through all life. It’s connected, and as a Jedi I can see and feel it as if I am the force.”

“Sounds awful, always knowing other peoples feelings,” Din remarked in his typical candid fashion. “Can you turn it off?” he asked with a little too much interest. Luke frowned.

“Yes. But to do so is unnatural,” Luke stated with finality. Din nodded in acceptance and Luke’s shoulders relaxed.

“You said ‘with most people’,” Din inquired. Luke hummed in acknowledgement.

“With other force sensitives, the emotions and thoughts are clearer. Especially when the thoughts are fueled by emotions. Like now, you’ve clued in on what I’ve said, and I can hear you thinking ‘am I?’ in waves of shock, alarm and…” he faded away, leaving the last emotion unsaid. Luke looked away. “You don’t need to worry. What once could’ve been nurtured and trained is long lost to time. Faded away. Your sensitivity will only ever be a distant whisper, where for me it is a roaring shout.”

Din nodded, too distracted by his guilt to respond. He began to think on it, but knew the Jedi would hear whatever worrying thoughts he had. He tried to think of something, anything, to distract him, but once again Luke made the decision for him.

“How did you meet her?” Luke asked, gazing up at trees behind periwinkle glass. Din startled, not realizing they’d reached the building already. “Your wife?” the Jedi prompted. Even outside in the cold dead air, the pine tree’s smell carried; brining forth memories of cozy evenings and warm chests. Had the Jedi picked up on these thoughts as well? How much of his mind was his own? Din swallowed thickly. He thought Luke would let his outburst about his wife lie, having got the information he wanted; proof of Din’s un-involvement with the First Order. But asking after his past? Maybe this was the Jedi version of a peace offering?

“That is none of my business,” Luke said suddenly, voice business like, posture stiffening and eyes looking everywhere but at the Mand’alore, “I think now we should head-“ he cut himself off when his host began to speak.

“During my time with Grogu,” Din began, voice just above a whisper, “there was a planet I’d planned leaving him on. He’d have thrived in that small village. Almost joined him too, before the bounty hunters showed up,” Din eyed the split in the path. One way lead back to the main fort, the other to the labs. Din turned to make his way back to the main building when the Jedi strode passed him, heading in the other direction. The Mand’alore hesitated.

“Coming?” the Jedi asked condescendingly over his shoulder, pausing his stride. The R2 unit attempted to pass Din, beeping indignantly at the man’s large frame blocking the path.

“Sorry,” Din muttered towards the droid and picked up in speed. It wired a strangely sarcastic order of beeps, saying ‘apology accepted’ as it followed close behind; too close, forcing Din to catch up with the thing’s master. A peculiar machine, Skywalker’s R2-D2. Din didn’t like droids. Hardly ever used them unless absolutely necessary. The little R2 unit, though, was similar looking to any droids Din worked with; inhuman. It’s tube form resembled a garbage pail, and its lights were arranged in a way that avoiding any similarities to sentient eyes. It didn’t appear as anything else but what it was. So, Din had been surprised to find the thing had a rather… personable personality. It unnerved him. Just like its master.

The Jedi, listening to the Mandalorians silent observations, waited for him to catch up. His metallic hand clenched numbly at his side.

“I met her during our time there,” Din continued. “She offered me something I’d never thought to have.”

“A family,” Luke stated.

“A home,” Din corrected. “For me and my ‘son’. The children had practically adopted him themselves. And she…” Din faded off, unable to put all that Omera was to him in simple words. Luke nodded in silent acknowledgement. Din coughed into his shoulder, hiding a wet breath. Even though he was choking back tears, a sense of ease came over him. Like it was okay to be talking about this. About her. In fact, Din found he wanted to.

“After you left with Grogu, I went back to mercenary work, for awhile. After some time it became meaningless. Hollow. So, I went back to the village. Hid out in the woods for months,” Din paused, remembering that time. He started to laugh. “Of course, that’s how she found me. For all that time I thought I was hidden, she’d snuck around my camp collecting sap and needles from the trees for fermentation. One day, she had had enough of waiting for me. One morning I awoke and she was there at the fire making breakfast. Didn’t say a word.”

“Before I knew it, I was living in a village of krill farmers. I had a wife. Kids,” Din eyed the approaching lab apprehensively. His nerves were fraying, his fear building, before ebbing away with an unexplainable sense of calm. Behind his mask, Din frowned. “We lived off of the land, and what we couldn’t get from the land, we traded our dyes for. I learned as much as I could, but I’m not built for botany. Winta, and Carmiya? They _see_ its potential. They were the ones who went back to Sorgan and collected what krill they could find. Brought it back here and tested it on the soils of our planets-“

“Sorgan, wasn’t it?” Luke interrupted, his tone hinting at something, “one of the spice runner’s stops in the Outer Rim?” Just like that, the calm Din had lulled into, shattered. The artificial ease he’d felt disappeared, leaving Din feel violated as he recalled all he’d just shared with this stranger. The pain surged quickly; the helplessness he’d felt _that day_ , the unattended grief and weeping loss that bleed inside him.

“There it is,” Luke sighs, eyes closed. “You’ve experienced great loss, Din Djarin. And you’ve done what you can to make sure you never loose again. Is that why you’ve been hiding her talents?” When Luke opened his eyes, the look he gave Din was piercing.

“What is this?” Din demanded, hand now obviously gripping the hilt of his blaster. Luke didn’t so much as glance at the threatening move. “What did you do to me?”

“ _I_ did nothing, Mando,” Luke said, his smirk condescending, and eyes looking over his hosts shoulder. Din turned around. They’d stopped alongside the laboratory. Behind a thick layer of glass the Mand’alore and Jedi Master watched a kneeling Carmiya smiling softly while one of Grogu’s small green hands was pressed to her forehead. Grogu, who was very much not asleep. Din could swear he felt something pulsing from them. It raised the hair of his arms, and left behind strange calming sensations that slowed his breathing, before the realization came and it picked right back up again.

“I’m leaving Grogu here. With you,” the Jedi announced. That was unexpected. Din looked over at the Jedi. “I have taught the child all that I can. He is safe from himself. But, I can no longer be his teacher.” He nodded towards the two in the lab. Carmiya giggled as Grogu’s three fingered hand drifted over her nose and eyelids, but seemed to stifle herself when he paused the action, ears tilted back and down. They turned upright when the girl settled, and another wave of strange calm slid over them.

“She’s very gifted with the Force,” Luke said as the effects faded away. In the reflection of the glass, Din’s eyes caught with the Jedi’s penetrating stare. A long silence followed, during which the Jedi’s smirk became a full blown grin, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Years ago, Din had chosen not to find a teacher for Carmiya. Her abilities, with time, would fade away. Those first few months after the toy plane incident, things slowly stopped levitating, and her childish tantrums stopped vibrating the house. They thought it had gone. It wasn’t until years later, Din learned it hadn’t. Winta came to him in tears, and Din had ran through the compound like a mad man, terrified, only to find his youngest floating in her room, legs crossed, in peaceful mediation.

Right under his nose she’d been practicing on her own. It terrified him. But, Din hadn’t reprimanded her, though sometimes he thinks he should have. Instead, he tried distracting her. He made sure both his daughters had plenty of education, of course, but he gave Carmiya overmuch. He’d thrust instructor after instructor upon her, one for every weapon he could think of. He made sure for every necessary language Winta learned, Carmiya learned twice as many uncommon ones. He did it with everything; Art, georgraphy, history, literacy, mathematics, spacecraft*, philosophy; the list went on and on. He’d overloaded her on every subject, until science. It wasn’t until science that Carmiya showed any true fascination. In fact, her interest in biology became borderline obsessive. When Winta and her started collecting plants, and researching the effects of the blue krill of their village, Din pushing Carmiya further into her studies of botany; hoping her interests would switch over. It didn’t, not completely, but there’d been hope. Especially with the groundbreaking work Winta and her had recently accomplished. Now, looking at the Jedi, Din feared it’d been all for naught.

“You’ll be relieved to hear, I’m not taking her with me,” Luke stated.

Din blinked behind his visor. He turned towards the Jedi. He blinked again.

“ _What_?” his voice barely made it out of his helmet. And though he couldn’t believe he was asking it, he did; “Won’t she be in danger? She needs a teacher.” Luke arched a brow.

“Can’t you see?” he asks, humor, _real humor_ , entering his voice. “She already has one,” once again he nods at the two inside. The two force users were silently communicating in the last place anyone would be found meditating, (besides Din’s office). Carmiya’s clean lab coat and Grogu’s earthen Jedi robes exemplified the dichotomy of the two’s backgrounds. This was further distinguished by the surrounding petri dishes and delicate glass test tubes of Carmiya’s studies. Year of hard work. Her dedication to her craft lined every aspect of every greenhouse on the compound. To Din’s dismay, Carmiya was blissfully oblivious to her scientific environment, and was completely in tune with Grogu. Grogu, who seemed to be patiently directing her through… _something_. And by the positive twist of his ears, he was succeeding.

“The kid?” Din asks, dumbfounded.

Luke nods, “They are connected. Have been for quite some time now. I wouldn’t have known, if Grogu hadn’t recognized her when we arrived. I believe, Grogu’s attachment to you let him reach out with the force to watch you-”

“ _You believe_?” Din asked. Luke gave him a sardonic look, before sighing painfully.

“There’s no record of anything like it,” he admitted. “The Jedi forbade these types of attachments, which is why I can only guess at the connection. All I can really compare it to is my own connection with my sister, who is also sensitive to the force, but she was trained. You were not.”

“Hmm,” was Din’s lackluster response.

“From this,” the Jedi continued, “I can only guess that, through the connection, Grogu sensed Carmiya. The force created some sort of link between the two of them. I’d never seen it before, because I never knew to look,” tone a bit defensive, he answered Din’s unspoken question. “As I have taught him, he then taught her. It’s why you’ve never experienced anything catastrophic with her. Why she’s so controlled. If you could sense her… it would be nothing short of a miracle for her to learn to control it on her own.” A haunted look fell over the Jedi’s eyes.

“Thats…” Din’s throat was dry, and his head hurt trying to understand everything he was being told.

“Even a near galaxy away, and he still watched over you,” Luke comments with something akin to wonderment in his voice.

“But,” Din turned towards the Jedi, “he can’t be her teacher. He’s,” he gestures with his helmet towards the two, “he’s a kid.” Carmiya stood at that moment, towering over the tiny creature who, at age 50, had still needed diapers. Grogu lifted his arms in a silent request, and Carmiya effortlessly picked him up and place him onto of one of her tables. Luke chuckled.

“One of my masters was one of his kind. His name was Yoda,” Luke paused a moment after saying his master’s name. He squinted, studying the two in the lab. “Grogu may only be sixty nine, but Master Yoda, he began teaching at age one hundred,” he stops to watch Grogu force play with Carmiya’s hair in distraction, causing the girl to break down in laughter. Luke was visibly biting back a smile, eyes strangely sorrowful. “Though he hasn’t wizened to that of a _Jedi Grand Master_ , Grogu is mentally at the age _I_ was when I began taking on students. And I started instruction later on in my life than those in the Jedi order.” Din wasn’t listening. He’d stopped paying attention when Luke had mentioned Yoda; bringing forth memories of another of this Grand Masters ‘students’.

“There was another Jedi we met,” Din said worriedly, “one who directed us to the Seeing Stone on Tython. She wouldn’t teach Grogu. Said his attachments would lead him down a dark path. But you took him in. You trained him, and aren’t worried about his attachments. So, _why won’t you train her_?” Din noticed how the Jedi stiffened, and his own anxiety spiked.

“I can’t,” Luke said stiffly. Now, Din was worried.

“Please,” Din’s voice cracked as he turned pleading, “if something is wrong with her-“

“I will _never_ teach your daughter, _or anyone else_ , the ways of the force, **ever again**!” The Jedi snapped. Din stepped back, reeling from the intense, dense pressure in the air around Luke. R2-D2 wurred, bobbing back and forth on his wheels. Luke eyes closed harshly, and he took a deep breath in. The pressure evaporated, and colors seemed to ever so slightly dim as the Jedi calmed. Something was wrong. He could feel it around him. A sudden stillness that felt unnatural and ill.

“Have you truly taught Grogu _all you can_?” Din asked stiffly. He’d taken on his Mand’alore presence; which required control and demanded compliance. He was done mincing words with this man, who was obviously dealing poorly with something on his own. It became clear now to Din that the reason for the Jedi’s visit hadn’t been what he’d guessed at all. All this time, Din had been worried that someone had come to take his daughter away. But this had nothing to with Din, Grogu or Carmiya. And it had nothing to do with politics. This was personal. He’d found Grogu's ‘closest of kin’. He’d been making sure Grogu would be safe. Luke Skywalker was running away from something, and leaving everything else behind.

“Yes,” the meager voice than answered his thoughts made the Mand’alore pause. “And to answer your question, Grogu _has_ mastered his gifts, as truly as any force user can. _I haven’t failed on that front_ ,” the last bit was to himself, but the Mand’alore heard it loud and clear and studied Luke. The Jedi wasn’t looking at him. He’d curled into himself, shoulders hunched and cloak caging his haggard body. Din frowned. The man before him was so different than the man who’d arrived on Gideon’s ship. Din remembered a fierce mysterious Jedi, confident with his movements and almost godlike with his skill. It was hard to believe that the downtrodden creature before him had once taken on a squadron of dark troopers all on his own, and had defeated them all without a single hair out of place. No, the man before him reminded Din of himself, hiding away in the woods of Sorgan, all those years ago. Just like that, the Mand’alore persona disappeared.

“What happened to you?” Din asked, stepping towards him. Luke flinched away, like a wounded animal. Whatever it was, it had destroyed the man. Before, when Din was just a mercenary, he’d have thought ‘none of my business’, and the two would part ways. But now, Din had two force users in his life. And he couldn’t just leave them to their own devises. The force was serious stuff. The Mand’alore’s of ages passed waged war against the Jedi. It was why Mandalorians didn’t trust force sensitives. It was why Din and Winta kept Carmiya’s talents between themselves.

“Luke,” Din addressed the Jedi by his name for the first time, and the man himself tensed, “why are you leaving Grogu _here_?” Luke’s shoulders dropped in physical relief, and he finally turned to look Din in the eye. It was then, Din saw a spark of the Jedi from years past.

“I see now,” he glances in the lab, “Grogu was always meant to be her teacher. I should have returned with him sooner,” he closed his eyes in silent contemplation. An air of understanding came about him. “My job was to teach him. I did that. But the cosmic force has plans for Grogu, and instead of returning him to you, setting him further on his path, I’d kept him with me in hopes of rebuilding the Jedi Academy, in hopes that-” he stuttered, gasping as something suddenly struck him. His brows scrunched together in pain. He turned his head, ear up, as if listening to something. There was a faint warble in the air. A shift in the atmosphere that pushed against Din’s eardrums, as if he’d dropped a hundred feet. In his ear, the density shifted ever so subtly, and Din could swear he heard… a voice? Once he thought he was beginning to pick it out, it stopped.

“ _I tried to control it, and in doing so, it not only grew, but festered_ ,” Luke spoke so quietly, it could’ve been confused for a long breath. In fact, the words were so distant and hushed, Din wasn’t sure if his brain had confused the odd rumbles as words. But, strangely, Din knew what he’d said. Almost felt it. A chill ran up the Mand’alore’s spine, and the feeling of being watched came from the direction of endless hills of undisturbed snow.

“The reason I’m leaving Grogu here,” Din jumped, turning to find a resolute Luke looking at him, “is because Grogu’s past is a piece of a much larger puzzle, that you are meant to put together, Din Djarin.”

“How?” Din asked. His masked turned up sharply. “Why?”

“There is a rising darkness in the galaxy,” Luke said. “It’s been growing since the fall of the Empire. The First Order is proof enough of that. But, there’s something else. A darkness that lingers at the edge of my senses. I’ve felt it, and ignored it, and now-“ again, that meek older man appeared, shoulders hunched and eyes tired. He turned and began walking the way they came. Din glanced back into the lab. Carmiya was turned away, hunched down looking into a microscope, and jaw moving; meaning she was most likely speaking to her new companion. Grogu, ears tilted her way and twitching the way they did when he listened, was looking in the direction of his teacher. His little mouth turned up in a sad, knowing smile. Grogu looked at Din and nodded in greeting, before turning back towards Carmiya.

Din followed the Jedi in silence all the way back to the landing pad, where the old x-wing still sat. He stood by as Luke prepared his ship and helped R2 into his shaft. Every now and then the man would communicate with his droid, but it was always hushed and quick.

“The galaxy is divided. More than ever before. It’s vulnerable. Whatever’s out there knows this. Those loyal to the empire who survived its end were planning something before they disappeared, and I know,” Luke paused as he hoisted himself into the pilot’s seat, “whatever it is, isn’t good.”

“Then why not stay, and help?” Din shouted, backing up as the x-wing’s engine roared. The hatch closed over the pilot’s seat.

“I’ve already done enough,” Luke said to himself. The X-wing took off. Din turned to walk back to the main building, and stopped at the site of Carmiya standing at the path’s end. He made his way up to his daughter, popping his helmet off, and stood with her. They both watched as the ship shot through the atmosphere.

“So, that was the great Jedi Master who took Grogu away,” Carmiya said, voice disbelieving. Din nodded. “The same one you and Winta thought would take me?” Din looked down at her in surprise. She gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Yes,” He said. She nodded to herself knowingly. Din arched a brow.

“So, does this mean I can actively study the force?” she asked bluntly. Din felt his heart stop. So she picked up on that too? “I mean, now I have an actual teacher, who can monitor me and stuff,” she mumbled, looking down at her hands as she rocked back and forth on her heels nervously. As if she wouldn’t do so without his permission anyways. Din, smiling, couldn’t help but laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *spacecraft: the study of space ships.  
> I couldn't find a word for it. Googling 'Star Wars school studies' didn't get me anywhere. If you know a school of study in the star wars universe, please, comment it.


	6. Spotchka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my first and last taste of Scotch. Who'd have thought I'd be allergic to juniper?

6 months later

The chrome rooms of the Wren fortress weren’t the most cozy. The place was built for military purposes, of course. Any meeting that took place was meant to be quick and to the point. Not time for questions or emotions. The floors and walls were flat concrete surfaces. No colorful carpet or homey decor. The main source of light in most rooms came from the windows, large planes of glass, which didn’t offer the most welcoming of sites. When looking upon Krownest’s surface, one would first see the little bit taken up by the Mandalorian compound. As for the rest, it was endless planes and hills of still snow. From all sides, the planet gave you a picturesque view of certain death; either by krown wolves or frost bight. It was this view the occupants of the mess hall were afforded. Though unintended, it had certainly set the mood.

Leaning against a wall in the back corner of the room, Winta observed the collection before her. Uncertain eyes would look over, take in her armor with growing intimidation before looking hastily away. A few of the older individuals gave approving nods. The children just blatantly stared. Behind her mask, Winta smiled.

It wasn’t meal time, and those seated at the stark metal dinning tables weren’t soldiers. And if they had been, they weren’t anymore. No, today the hall was filled with mechanics, oil riggers, miners, scavengers and most importantly; farmers. All were Mandalorian refugees; first, third and forth generations. By the end of the month, hopefully, they would all be terraformers.

At the front of the room sat a large desk and projector in place of the hot and cold food bars. Behind it were large blank data screens; their faded glow cast halos around the heads of those seated towards the front. Their profiles, lined with blue light, all turned towards the door as is opened. From the hallway, escorted by two black armored guard, came a nervous Carmiya. The guards took their spots at either end of the front wall, where they would stand resolutely until their ward took her leave.

Carmiya’s data pad was clutched closely to her chest like a shield. The braid crown Winta had perfectly crafted upon her sibling head this morning was neat in places, and obnoxiously frizzy in others. Winta sighed. Strands of burgundy hair stuck out behind Carmiya’s ears, where she was known to pick at when nervous; a nasty habit Winta had been trying to get her to break. Carmiya’s jacket appeared overly large, being unbuttoned and loose about her shoulders, giving her a childish appearance. As if only now realizing it, Carmiya hastily pulled the arms up, jostling the data pad clumsily between her tangled arms. Members of the crowd looked between each other nervously, all thinking the same thing: _this was the scientist_? The stark mood from earlier had faded, but the morale wasn’t up to par. Behind her mask, Winta rolled her eyes.

Carmiya started setting up right away. Her shoulders straightened with purpose, and her stance became confident. A good thing, Winta thought, if she wasn’t ignoring her audience. Winta had lost count of how many times she’d done this presentation. Clearly too many, because she had acquired a routine that Carmiya was failing to follow. When Winta did these presentations, she walked into the room with purpose. She’d grasp onto the attention of the crowd and hold onto it. Those in the crowd may not have been soldiers, they _were_ people taking on a huge risk. Though the lives these families lead weren’t _ideal_ , they were still leaving behind all they knew. The least Carmiya could do was provide some order. But, Winta thought, this was to be expected. It was the first time Carmiya was leading this meeting. And even _if_ she wanted to take over, she couldn’t, for their father had ordered Winta to observe.

“Hello?” cracked the young Djarin’s soft voice, still facing one of the screens, waiting for it to turn on. The light projectors stuttered a few times before finally displaying verity of images. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” A few children giggled at the adult speaking to an inanimate object. A soft undercurrent of chatter had filled the room, as people stopped waiting in silence for their frazzled presenter to begin. Winta watched her sister hold the data pad in one hand while the other wiped nervously on her thigh. Carmiya turned around, and froze. “My, there are a lot of you,” she said before dissolving into a rough cough to try and cover up her nerves. It did not. Winta grit her teeth nervously.

Carmiya tapped something on her data pad. The lights dimmed, and the holo projector flashed on. A projection of the Mandalore sector hovered above them all. The room quieted naturally, as those in attendance observed the image. There was an air of melancholy amongst the murmurers; those who hadn’t seen a map of their system in years. Winta picked out the teary eyes of those who pointed out planets they hadn’t been to in decades. The one this group was destined for was glowing with a distracting yellow.

Winta noticed her sister take in a deep breath. Her eyes fluttered to a close, and at the edge of the her mind Winta picked out a foreign sense of calm. Carmiya’s eyes opened, her presence becoming otherworldly, and Winta fought down a flash of envy. At least now Carmiya could get in control.

“This is Kalevala,” the deep resin of Carmiya’s feminine voice, free from nerves and reluctance, filled the room with a naturally compelling cord. The group collectively quieted. This was the voice of a seasoned commander. _It’s good their eyes are on the projection_ , Winta thought, _because they’d surely be confused by the seventeen year old the voice was coming from_. “Occupying the fourth orbit of our system, located at _three five one dot zero eight two_ and _two eight four dot seven nine four_ ,” the image zoomed in on Kalevala, revealing its sad brown surface.

“The terrain of Kalevala is comprised of desertscape, previously toxic until the deposit of our AP towers. Since Kalevala’s stability was restored, eight colonies have been established,” the yellowish brine of the planet had faded. The half of the planet that once appeared to be dark brown turned into a deep blue, signifying clean water. A series of eight green spots grew and expanded over dispersed sections of the planet’s surface. Soft gasps of surprise and excited chatter popped up around the crowd. The projection twirled about, and closed in on a large desert.

“You, are part of the ninth, and last colony, that will be sent to Kalevala,” the location rotated a few times for the observers, before the projection shut off and Carmiya directed their attention to the screens. On them were diagrams and pictures of blue oceanic creatures.

“These vibrantly colored crustaceans are Aozora Krill,” Carmiya said, stepping to the side, “Native to Sorgan, they were harvested for their natural pigments and secretions for dyes, oils and Spotchka. But _I_ ,” Carmiya added a playful lilt to her voice, her eyes squinting conspiratorially, “am far more interested in their more natural uses. In a nature setting, the remains of these krill float along the current and attach to any water floor it ultimately lands on. What happens next is the most exciting part; the plant life flourishes! Previously dead and dry soil, suddenly teaming with life,” Carmiya pulls up examples; time lapse photos and diagrams as she speaks.

“The krill’s remains manage to soak nutrients into the soil, spiking growth to an astronomical amount. The problem, though, is the process of krill growth. Their biology doesn’t fit with most environments. They die before reproduction can even happen. The released krill have definitely been effective, but only in the areas of their release. We can’t seem to get the krill to acclimate. So, we’ve had to farm the remains on base in environmentally controlled labs. That is where you come in,” an image pops up of a greenhouse structure similar to those outside.

“So we don’t have to outsource buckets of the stuff, in the process massively depleting our coaxium supply, and overworking our krill, we are placing these labs on site. You will then be working on these krill farms, distributing the collected remains with our diluted solution, which is an easy make, over the land. Within six to nine months, seventy percent of the allotted land will be ready for planting. During this time a regular supply of resources will come from us, until the land is fruitful and the land provides for you. Now,” Carmiya takes a large settling breath, adjusting the screens on her data pad so that the holo of Kalevala hovers above them again, “before I send you off to the labs for instruction and position testing, any questions?”

Even though she was hidden behind her mask, Winta still bit back a smile when her sister’s eyes widened in alarm as at least a hundred hands shot up.

****Hours Later****

**Djarin Family Quarters**

Winta grinned smugly when Carmiya collapsed into the first couch she came across. The young Djarin grabbed a grey velvet cushion and smashed it onto her face, and shouted. Winta rolled her eyes as she took her helmet off. She set it unceremoniously on the lounge bar. She reached for the closest decanter and began filling up a fancy crystal tumbler with glowing blue liquid. She took a long swig, sighing contently, and leaned against the bar. Pine sharply coated the top of her mouth and burned her airways, causing Winta to scrunch her nose. Not quite like her mothers, but as close as her and her father could get. She set her glass down on the table and twirled the liquid about a few times. Another muffled shout had her sighing.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Winta admonished. A hand curled over the couch’s back before a miserable Carmiya flung herself up into a sitting position. Her braid was positively ruined now; strands sticking out everywhere with static. It fell comically over her eyes, taking away any seriousness the glare was supposed to have. “Your _hair_ on the other hand,” Winta had to take a sip to hide her laughter. Carmiya self consciously slapped her hands over her head, and began patting around to assess the damage, eyes widening with every second.

“How long?” Carmiya asked. Winta took another swig instead of answering, eyes looking at hers over the cup. Carmiya groaned and fell back into the cushions dramatically. A companionable silence followed, until Winta finished off her glass. She eyed the decanter, wondering if she was allowed another. She _was_ done for the night, and training didn’t start till later the next day.

“Wait for dad,” Carmiya said. Winta glared at the couch. She thought about how she didn’t like her mind being read, making sure it was _extra_ loud. “ _Sorrrry_ ,” the teenager groaned in annoyance, and a slight tinge of pain. Winta winced and looked down guiltily. The teenager sighed.

“It’s ok,” Carmiya said, sitting up again. Her indigo eyes were heavy. _Heavier than any teenagers should be_ , Winta thought. Carmiya mock glared. “Stop that. You are fine. Your thoughts just get louder when you drink.”

“I didn’t know that,” Winta said, surprised. And she’d just mentally blasted her as well. Winta winced, “I’m sorry for, uh, shouting?” Carmiya snorted at her blunderous terminology. Her younger sister waved her hand lazily. Apology accepted. They fell into another silence. It wasn’t long until the lounge doors opened, and Din walked in in full regalia. He stopped, helmet facing the couch.

“Bad hair day?” he asked. Carmiya fell back, again, this time with a disgust filled ‘ugh’. He left and shortly came back with the bulk of his armor gone. Meaning, he’d lost the cape and helmet. Din would never be caught without his body armor. Winta wonders if he even sleeps in it. Carmiya snorted.

“Hope that’s not your second, kid,” Din comments, pouring himself a glass. He hovers with the decanter for a bit until Winta realizes he’s waiting for an answer.

“No, go ahead,” she says. He smiles when he fills hers up. He sits down on a stool and leans one arms over the counter. His gaze is distant, mind still on the days events and thinking about whats to come. It wouldn’t be until the drink calmed his nerves he’d come back to them. Din would never tell them, but the roll of Mand’alore took its toll. It’d taken a long time for Winta to see it. She wondered, with her abilities, how aware Carmiya was. Winta frowned and took a long swig.

“Been awhile since we’ve shared a glass of Spotch',” Din remarks, taking his first sip. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, letting the pine spark his senses.

“Oh?” Winta asks conversationally, glancing at the couch’s back.

“Yeah, you always seem to finish before I get here,” Din says. The comment was weighted. Winta looked down at her glass, already half empty. Spotchka was potent, but her mother’s brew was made for it to be savored. So, when had she started downing it? When had she started having two every time instead of one?

“When do I get to have some?” Carmiya asked, making sure her voice was loud enough to cary over the couch.

“Never,” Winta said while Din said, “not till your eighteen.” He paused, “Or never,” he agreed, “I like never.” They clinked their glasses together. Carmiya laughed.

“You guys are jerks,” Carmiya announced playfully, sitting up once again. Her fingers were halfway through her braid now, slowly pulling each tightly wound piece out at a time.

“How’d the presentation go?” Din asked. Carmiya groaned, but was too focused on her hair to flop back down again. Din arched a brow.

“It went fine,” Winta said, “very well, actually,” she ignored Carmiya’s scoff, “It was when the question of compensation came up that things got, _hairy_ ,” she sipped slowly. Carmiya glared at her. Winta winked. Din eyed them both uncertainly.

“They asked for more than the locked percentage?” He asked, worried. Winta shook his head, and Din’s look turned confused.

“It would’ve been nice if I’d known about that!” Carmiya complained, cheeks burning pink as her movements became more harsh.

“She told them the land was compensation enough,” Winta supplied quietly. Din’s jaw dropped.

“I didn’t say it like _that_! Ouch!” Carmiya hissed when she pulled a lock a little too tight. Her ears were positively blazing red. Winta winced, and decided to take pity. She walked over to help her sister finish the rest. She sat behind her, one leg on and the other off the couch. With practiced skill, Carmiya’s locks were out and down in a mater of moments. Winta brushed her fingers through, getting rid of any remaining knots or snarls. She slowed her movements as a memory unfurled. The lighting was the same as it was in that moment; a warm glowing orange cast by the setting sun. Long auburn hair, now with a scattering of decorated locks. She held one up; a series of blue wood beads, dye chipped away in spots with time.

“What was she like?” Carmiya asked quietly. Winta froze, hand holding a bare lock of hair. But in her mind she could still see them. Her mother’s hair beads. The ones she asked Winta or Din to braid into her hair each morning, and out each evening. Knowing her sister could see her thoughts, Winta focused again on the imagined lock. She pictured the beads, knowing their pattern from hundreds of mornings and nights. The first one was a deep azure, one she’d carved in her childhood. A memory of her mother’s long fingers wrapping around her tiny hands. Her mothers warm eyes, filled with so much love she needn’t speak, but she did anyways. _I love them_. With each bead she quickly remembered, noticing the improvement in carvings, and each ending with a loving ‘thank you’.

“She was kind,” Winta began, mindlessly beginning another braid; this one loose, for sleep. “And patient, and warm,” she remembered her blinding smile, and all encompassing hugs. Winta’s hand hovered near her sister’s shoulder a moment, before dropping into her lap. When was the last time she’d had one of her mother’s hugs? She looked over at her father, who was staring into his empty glass. When had he?

“Thanks,” Carmiya said softly, pulling the braid over her shoulder. What about Carmiya? Had she ever experienced a hug like that? Winta frowned. Carmiya stayed facing towards the door, meticulously inspecting her hair. Winta felt a shallow pang in her heart, and sighed. She stood and planned on returning to the bar. She’s stopped by Carmiya’s hand around her wrist.

“And thank you,” Carmiya said, eyes warm and damp. Winta nods, lips pressed together tightly. Carmiya let her go. Winta returns to the bar and softly takes the empty glass out of her fathers hand. She takes hers, downs what’s left, and heads into the small kitchenette to clean up. The sound of the faucet fills the air.

“Compensation enough?” Din asks, not entirely believing it. Winta, smiling despite herself, rolls her eyes when her sister dramatically falls again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I named them towers instead of plants, the idea still came from aliens. Also, good on you if you recognized it.


End file.
